Chapter 23
Lillian
Once morning rush hour is over, we leave Queens. In Jersey City, we swap the bulletproof SUV for a Toyota. Now, we idle in front of a six-foot iron fence topped with barbed wire.
Welcome to Serenity Rose Psych Care.
As instructed, I log into their app. At exactly ten o’clock, the hinges creak, a motor whirs, and the gate swings open.
For almost a mile, we drive past pristine lawns. Not a leaf dares to stick out from the pruned shrubs. Oaks tower over younger maples. Walkways wind through it all, no doubt designed to soothe anxious minds.
Following the VISITOR PARKING sign, Sean pulls into a space behind the ivy-covered, three-story brick building.
Today he wears a charcoal polyester jacket over a crisp white button-down shirt. Slicked-back hair and horn-rimmed glasses give him this sexy accountant vibe. In contrast, his right hand never strays far from the holstered Sig beneath his left arm.
Don’t know why I’m turned on so, but my mouth waters as he circles the hood to open my door.
“Hurry. We’re exposed.” When his head swivels toward the pool beyond the pickleball courts, I follow his gaze.
“Bocce ball. Croquet. Badminton.” After living in the city, the amount of open space blows my mind. “This facility has everything.”
“Except people.” Palm on my lower back, he ushers me to the entrance.
“Huh.” Despite the seventy-five degrees, the light breeze, and a cloudless sky, not a single patient ventures outside.
At the front desk, a blonde woman barely out of her teens glances up from her cell phone. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Mr. Clark. She’s Ms. Fisher. Ms. Cudworth is expecting us.”
The girl sends a text, then focuses on her game or whatever she was doing. “Have a seat. She’ll be with you shortly.”
“Hello?” I wait for at least ten seconds before waving my hand in front of her face. “Did you know Simone Hart?”
“I only started here last week.” Her lips and brows scrunch together, as if taking the SATs. “Isn’t she the one who escaped, then blew herself up?”
Eyes on a flock of geese landing around the pool, Sean shrugs. “Police business. Can’t discuss it.”
He leads me to a couch under a crystal chandelier. While I sink into the rich leather, he sits to my right, his face contorting. No matter how he fakes it, that leg still hurts. Back to the wall, his gaze shifts to the restrooms, the front door, then the hallway.
Once he settles, I scoot closer. “She used the word escape. Is this a prison?”
“Guess we’ll find out.” Face blank, body tense, he says nothing more. Because I respect his need to keep watch, I don’t distract him.
Fifteen minutes later, we follow the receptionist up the stairs to a spacious office furnished with turn-of-the-century antiques. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the eerily empty estate.
Cudworth, a gray-haired woman in pearls and a pinstriped suit, rises and extends her manicured hand. “As I explained to your horrid young man on the phone, I already spoke to the authorities. I have nothing more to add.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My partner shakes her limp-wristed offering. “We need to dot a couple of i’s and cross a few t’s. Her family hired us to prove there was no negligence.”
“From us? Not hardly.” Her disapproving sniff suggests it’s a tactic she’s employed for years and expects it to work.
Sitting, I cross my legs, my best saccharine smile glued to my face. “No one ever wants a lawsuit. So messy. So unnecessary. So crass. We only want to understand how Simone was allowed to leave.”
“Allowed?” She harrumphs, still standing. “She was a guest, not a prisoner. She came and went as she pleased.”
Without missing a beat, I fire off my next question. “Sooo, what? She called an Uber?”
“Heavens, no. Her brother picked her up. Took her to lunch. She wandered off in the city.” She peers down her nose at us. “But you already knew this.”
An unruffled Sean jots down a note. “Of course. We’re confirming the details.”
“Well, we had nothing to do with her unfortunate demise. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Ms. Cudworth strides toward the door.
Voice firm, Sean leans back in the Windsor chair. “I’d like the surveillance video from the day she checked out.”
“It’s gone.” A faint blush creeps into her cheeks. “I gave it to the police.”
“Do you use sign-out sheets?” I pull an iPad from my bag. “Or is everything online?”
Lips pursed, she hesitates. “My assistant, Marissa, will have it waiting for you on your way out. I don’t see what else…”
“Sit.” Sean waits for a moment. When she doesn’t move, he removes his pistol and places it on his thighs where she can see it. “It wasn’t a question.”
Paling, Cudworth lowers herself behind her desk, folding her hands atop the wood. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
After glancing down at my list of questions, I focus on her. “Miss Hart had schizophrenia. Meds are quite effective. People can live normal lives outside an institution. Why here?”
The gray-haired woman looks at her watch, then sighs theatrically. “She didn’t like taking them. Said they made her tired. Disconnected. She preferred her hallucinations. Here, she lived safely inside her illusions. Her choice.”
“Was she depressed?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but her scowl deepens. “We don’t give out personal information, but in general, one could say that someone who commits suicide is not happy, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Sean tries a different tack. “Did she have friends we can speak to?”
“No.” Both palms on the desk, she rises. “Now, unless you intend on shooting me, I have work to attend to. My assistant will see you out.”
Cudworth sticks her head out the door. “Marissa, you can come in now.”
A woman in her thirties wearing sailboat-print scrubs steps inside the office. She carries an 8-by-10-inch brown, wire-bound notebook.
As she makes a beeline for Sean, he slips his weapon behind his back.
Smiling seductively, fingers near his cock, she sets the records on his lap. Closer still, her lips meet his ear. “Don’t mind my boss. She’s protective of her charges.”
You want to see protective? I will give you protective.
Grinning at my bitch face, Sean stands, tossing me the sign-in logs. “Here, babe. Take a gander.”
Marissa forgotten, I thumb through entries until I reach the date Simone went missing.
Woah. The leftward slant? The strange gaps in front of every lowercase e? Backward loops in the fs and gs? I’ve seen the signature before.
Pulse kicking in, I snap a picture. The room grows silent as I scroll through my search results.
Once I find a photo of Jeff Pearson, I walk over to Marissa and hold the image under her nose. “Is this Simone’s brother? The one who signed her out?”
“Sorry. I never saw him.” The tops of her cheeks redden.
A lie.
“Who did see her?” She’s really pissing me off. “Someone must’ve been at the front desk.”
“Kiran. She doesn’t work here anymore.”
Of course she doesn’t. “No matter.” I close the book and hand it back to her. “We’ve got what we came for. Sean, we should go.”
My partner arches an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t want to talk to more staff members?”
“Nope.” I upload the photo I took to the cloud. “Trust me.”
Soon, we’re in the car. Kneeling on the passenger seat, I peer out the back window until I’m certain no one’s following. Only then do I face forward. “All clear.”
After one last glance in the rearview mirror, Sean’s grip loosens on the wheel. “So? What did you find?”
“Hart’s so-called brother is none other than our prime suspect, Jeff.”
His jaw drops. “Let me get this straight. Weeks before Dante assigned us the Parkhaven case, Pearson, pretending to be Simone’s brother, checked her out of this facility. When he reported how she wandered off, no one gave a damn until she blew up a fertilizer truck.”
“Yup. Don’t forget she knew our nondenominational joke.”
“Right.” He shakes his head. “How about we drive over to Talon and talk to Pierre? Maybe he can shed some light on this ever-expanding black hole.”